


season 14, game 36

by Qrth



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Houston Spies (Blaseball Team), mentions of all spies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 11:55:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30105585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qrth/pseuds/Qrth
Summary: RIV son scotch
Kudos: 13





	season 14, game 36

Until Son Scotch was incinerated, it was a normal game. Because it’s always a normal game, right up until the eyes of the Umpire flare red, and their sick grin peeks out from behind the edges of their mask and they start to move, intent on their target. Every solar eclipse is an average game, until it isn’t. 

It’s the third inning, the Hellmouths are batting. Most of the team is a bit on edge, as you must be in blaseball, but things are largely low stakes at the moment. This season was designated one for rest, and while the Spies can’t legally refrain from playing the splort, they may or may not be attempting to tank it, just a bit. 

Alex, Emmett, Jordan and Karato, despite not pitching, are in the dugout, watching on. Despite solar eclipses being an average game of blaseball, they tend to have the entire team on standby. That was laxer, two seasons ago. But after Teddy and Norris… the dugout stays full, on these games. For scenarios like this one.

Reese feels it first, because they always do. They’re always the first one on the team to feel the rise in temperature, to see that red glint. Typically, luckily, it’s aimed at them. The forewarning is what enables them to swallow the incineration blast whole, despite having no mouth with which to do so. But lately, the umpires seemed to have wisened up. They haven’t been aiming for Reese.

Son Scotch is standing in the outfield, kicking their feet at a bit of piled dirt. They really should be paying attention to the at-bat Hendricks Richardson, but he finds himself distracted quite often. It’s alright though, because no one really judges them for it. Everyone’s just glad their son is having fun, and doing his best. 

Reese is too far away, and they know it before they even start sprinting. The umpire has chosen it’s target. Son is still not looking up, still unaware of their impending doom. 

At this point, half the team has realized something is wrong. Math is closer to Son, and seems to have calculated what’s going on the second Math saw Reese begin sprinting full force towards Son. Alex in the dugout, with a sinking feeling in their chest, also realizes what’s happening. Neither of them know that it’s too late.

But Reese does. They let out a mangled cry, a warning, just as they’re about to reach Son. The rest of the people on the field understand, far too late as well.

The umpire locks eyes with Son, and he is the last on the field to know what is going to happen to him. Reese skids to a stop a few feet from Son, prepared to jump in the way if they can. 

The last thing Son does as a blaseball player, and as Son Scotch, is smile at Reese, coming to their rescue. A wordless thanks, before the gout of flames burns across the field, and Son Scotch is no more. 

Reese drops down on their knees, and decides simply that they’re never going to get up. They’ve never been able to cry, and even if they were, they’ve never been the type to. But they think it might be freeing, to be able to cry right now. It took three incinerations, two of them their best friends, to even think about it. But they can’t, so they’re going to sit here, blank face up at the sky, and never move again.

* * *

Alexandria is not allowed on the field. They are not in the game as a player, so they are not allowed on the field. They have to keep circulating that through their mind, because what their team needs right now, is not another incineration. If Alex was even 1% more impulsive, they would be out there with the rest of their team anyway. But they aren’t. They have to be composed. They have to make preparations. They have to do anything but sprint out onto that damn field, and rip the umpire's throat out. Alex stuffs the scream they so desperately want to release down their own throat, and turns to look at the rest of the people in the dugout.

Emmett, the newbie, seems catatonic. Right, it’s never seen an incineration. Alex categorizes that shell-shock, recognizes they will be no help with all the doom rolling around in their head, and decides they will have to ask someone to be there with them. They can’t help this one. Not right now. Not alone.

Karato is sobbing, head in her hands. A mirrored situation to Teddy’s incineration. He will need company, in his grief. And they’re only on inning three, so Alex has to work with what they have. They walk over, and give her the most reassuring hug they can. It’s not very reassuring, but Alex is trying. They have to try. They catch Karato’s eyes and motion to Emmett. Karato is a comforting presence in any scenario, and Alex knows that being able to help will keep Karato from being lost in himself entirely. Karato nods, and goes over to sit next to Emmett.

Now, what should be the last person in the dugout. Jordan stands there, camera lense unblinking as they hold their walkie-talkie up to their ear. Alex stands there, waiting for them.

“Jomgy Rolsenthal,” they say, slipping the walkie-talkie into a coat pocket.

“The replacement.” Alex says with a steadiness they wish they felt.

“Pulled them from the reserves, they’re in the stadium now,” Jordan sits down on a bench, patting the seat next to them. When Alex hesitates, they shake their head. “You can’t help them until the inning is over. They don’t pause for too long after incinerations, Alexandria. Just long enough to cart the new player out.”

“But… fine,” they say, then sit down next to Jordan. “Someone will have to call Fitz.”

“I will.” Jordan Hildebert is, very rarely, a comforting presence. Hard metal face, hard metal chassis, cold metal hands. But they have a steadiness to them, and for the rest of this inning, Alex needs that steadiness. They will try to emulate that steadiness to their teammates, who are going to need it. But until the rest of their team comes back into the dugout, and until Karato is no longer focused on trying to ground Emmett, Alex will let themselves silently shatter against the cold shoulder of one of their only remaining original teammates.

* * *

On the field, play has stopped. This is unacceptable to the League, obviously, but not unexpected. There is no time allotted for grieving deaths, but the time it takes them to find a replacement is taken as such. It is never long enough. Somehow, there is always someone on hand to take a place that shouldn’t need to be taken.

Math and Comfort run over to Reese, and the scorch mark on the ground. The two of them are transfixed by the latter, seemingly trying to comprehend just how this used to be who it used to be. Math’s hand twitches over the calculator Math carries everywhere, wanting to figure out the exact set of numbers and graphs and equations that could make this any less horrific. There’s nothing that changes anything, and Math still keeps typing things in.

Comfort is silent. They enjoy the silence, sometimes. They also enjoy the loudness, sometimes. They aren’t enjoying the silence they feel washing over them right now. It’s the same bitter blanket of silence they felt when Teddy was incinerated. There’s no solace in quietness now, and there’s no words Comfy feels they could speak loud enough for it to change anything, for it to matter.

Malik sits next to Reese, tears streaming down xir face. Xe doesn’t say anything, because xe knows Reese couldn’t hear it. Xe put an arm on their shoulder anyway, allowing them the time to grieve that they’ll be allotted, before it’ll be dangerous to take more. When play resumes, Reese cannot keep sitting here. Malik knows that xe will have to help Reese stand, even when xer unsteady on xir own legs. Xe’s lost a husband before. But Malik has never lost a son.

Sosa is standing on the mound still, turned to look at where Son used to be. He’s obviously confused about what to do, because he looks like he wants to run over to them, but his legs stay unmoving. There’s more than one tear-splotch on his trench coat. Denzel, conscious of just how close Sosa and Son were, make their way over to the pitching mound. They know they can’t stay here for longer than it takes to get the replacement, but until then, they hug their teammate and keep him close. There’s double the amount of crying voices than there should be, on that pitching mound.

Yrjӧ Kerfuffle has not been on the team long, and has never seen an incineration. Stew Briggs will not be on the team long, and has seen too many. Both of them hold back from getting too close. Yrjӧ will do eir best to provide for eir team when the game is over, and they are all back home. But ey did not know eir son as well as everyone else does, and Yrjӧ does not want to put that burden on the back of those who knew him better. It would be poor form, and form is what ey has right now. Stew Briggs is, as everyone else, mourning a son, but she has played this season with distance, and she will not be closing it now. She will be standing in her place on the outfield, ready to play when the call of ‘Play ball!’ marks the end of the mercy the League has for them. She will do what she did when she watched her friend get incinerated: do her damndest to honor the fallen.

Morrow was not here last season, when Teddy fell. They were with the Lovers, in a city far from her last breath. Just as they said in shallow sobs last season, it makes almost no difference how far away from their loved ones they are when the umpire decides to kill. The only thing that has changed with this one is Yeong-Ho, holding them back from doing something very stupid. If he was not there, the umpire would have undoubtedly smited Morrow down as well. As it is, Morrow stays slumped in the arms of someone crying just as hard as they are. 

It’s never enough time to grieve. A figure wanders out onto the field, looking lost. 

_ “Play ball!” _


End file.
